


Happiness is a Warm Knife Missile

by hangingfire



Category: The Culture - Iain M. Banks
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 21:08:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hangingfire/pseuds/hangingfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which an arms deal doesn't go well at all. At least not for the buyer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happiness is a Warm Knife Missile

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at [fanfic_luckydip](http://community.livejournal.com/fanfic_luckydip/9320.html), prompt: "PWP, any kind", August 2008

Mortes Jehereban, the leader of the Reactionaries and one of the most ruthless and feared men on the planet Dweress, sized up the pretty lady standing on the other side of the table. Not what he'd expected an arms dealer to look like; in fact, he suspected her of merely being some kind of front for the real man, a charming face and a very nice body meant to throw him off guard. Had to admit, it sort of worked. Couldn't miss the way that dress clung to her figure, the cut of the neckline plunging in exactly the right way between her breasts; he'd like to get his hand in there and—

Later. Business. He tapped the larger of the two boxes on the table between them. "So, Miss Sma, is it? What've you got for old Mortes here, eh?" He grinned at her, unable to help leering a bit.

Sma smiled prettily at him, although he couldn't tell if she was simply ignoring the leer or if maybe she was actually interested. "Well, Mr Jehereban—"

"Mortes, please."

"Mr Jehereban," she went on smoothly, "let's start with this one." She set down the grey hard case she was carrying and opened the larger of the two boxes on the table. Inside was an enormous rifle, its smooth, dark finish gleaming with a faint iridescence. "As you requested, it isn't loaded," she said, drawing it out from the case. "Which is a shame. I can't give you a proper demonstration." She held it with the stock resting against her hip, which caused her hips to tilt in a most alluring way. Jehereban licked his lips. He always did like to see a pretty girl with a big gun. "But here you go. Infrared and laser sight, accuracy up to 400 metres, built-in cooling system. Ammunition belt runs through here," she stroked the gears with the tip of a long finger, "and just look at how smooth and easy the action is." With liquid grace, she lifted it up to her shoulder (swaying her hips as she did so), levelled the thing at an imaginary target, and pulled the trigger as if gripping a lover's wrist. _Click-click-click-click._ "Nice and smooth," she said, smiling, and set the rifle back in the case.

"Gorgeous," Jehereban said, and absently mopped at his forehead. Warm in here. "We'll probably take a thousand. What else have you got?"

"Something a little more portable," she said, opening the second, medium-sized box. Inside was a handgun—at any rate, something Jehereban assumed was a handgun. It was shaped more or less like one, but it seemed to have been molded out of a single piece of matte-black ceramic. There didn't even seem to be a trigger. There was, he thought, something almost feminine about it, smooth curving lines like Ms Sma's waist. He wasn't sure if he wanted to shoot it or lick it.

Ms Sma took the handgun-thing out of the case and stroked it lightly as she showed it off. "The ceramic composite is completely invisible to metal detectors and even to scanners," she said. "I can tell you're wondering how to load it. You don't. It doesn't use bullets; it generates a concentrated plasma beam up to 2000 Kelvin in temperature. The wielder is fully shielded by the composite, of course. There's a separate charging device, which I didn't bring; you did stipulate that the samples not be loaded, after all." She winked and Jehereban wondered how many of these guns he'd have to order to get her into bed. "Compact and deadly enough to take down a space freighter all on its own. Mind you, it's only good for two shots on a charge, but with that kind of firepower, you shouldn't need more than that anyway, should you?"

"And that case?" He leaned forward to point at it and took another hungry look at her cleavage. Yes, _definitely_ going to have to get himself some of that. "What's in that?"

"Ah, well." Sma pursed her pretty lips. "That's the most advanced weapon of all." She set the glossy grey thing on the table and took a step back. And the case ...

... floated straight up into the air, where it stopped at Jehereban's eye level and turned 180 degrees to ... to face him? The handle by which Sma had carried it was gone, and that edge now had some small protrusions that suggested some kind of sensor array, or—he felt, though he couldn't explain it—the nearest thing this object had to a face. A deep red glow surrounded the thing, and Jehereban lurched backward when it spoke.

"Hello, Mortes Jehereban," it said. "My name is Fohristiwhirl Skaffen-Amtiskaw Handrahen Dran Easpyou. I and my colleague, Rasd-Codurersa Diziet Embless Sma da'Marenhide, represent the Special Circumstances arm of the Culture."

"Get it overwith, Skaffen," Sma grated, and through his fear and incomprehension, Jehereban saw that her face had gone cold and disgusted. Arms folded under her perfect breasts, she was now studying him with contemptuous glare. "Too easy, Jehereban. If we'd known it'd be this simple to get so close to you, I'd have done it ages ago."

"But—but—but—" he stammered, "what does this mean? I thought you—I—what _are_ you?"

"Ms Sma is, you might say, a very clever woman. I am a drone, an artificial intelligence," the thing called Skaffen said. "Don't worry about remembering any of this, though." A small, sharp-looking sliver detached itself from the drone's casing. "You're not going to live long enough for that to be a concern."

On the edge of hearing, there was a faint _whizz_. As Mortes Jehereban opened his mouth to speak, he became aware of a sort of stinging sensation at his neck. When he glanced down in an attempt to figure out what it was, his head fell off.


End file.
